Danse Macabre
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: She might have stepped on the wrong toes. (AU)
The woman had been summoned.

She hated that word. Summoned. Like she was some low ranking cublet to be called to attention at a snap of fingers. But summoned she had been. She had clawed her way to the top, after years of scheming and plotting and bloodshed and throatcutting, she had made her goal, and as the newly crowned Tolva, she had duties to uphold. And one of those duties was to ensure a solid connection to the other four leaders, or else her reign was guaranteed to be a short one. She'd done her part for three of them, with the pride's Rex and Regina, the constable's Corvax, and the band's Oba. All that remained now was the Raja. She had been called to his domain, something which irked at her pride, but there was nothing she could do about it. To protest might sour any relation they had before it formed.

She knew that the Raja was there that night. His car was parked out front, a work of art that nobody sane human would leave parked on the street and that no sane person would ever think to touch: a 1938 Rolls-Royce Wraith, sleek and dark, whitewall tyres near glowing in the darkness. The woman rolled her shoulders as her driver pulled up to the kerb before scurrying out to pull open the door for her, eyes downcast. She paid him no mind and slid smoothly out of the car, striding up the sidewalk. She had dressed for the occasion, as any proper Tolva should: a Roberto Cavalli silk leopard-print gown that hugged every curve of her body. It was shorter in front, rising to her knees, but it ended in a haze of black feathers in the back, fluttering about her calves. The neckline dipped low, held together across the front with elegant black lace, tight and forming her breasts to an eye-catching display. A shorn black Prada leather jacket was around her shoulders to complete the look, needle-sharp heels providing another three inches of height.

The only way to get into the Burnout nightclub was through a large mechanical door; it was closed to outsiders, and only members were allowed to know where the switch box was. It had once been a large warehouse for storage, but it'd been bought out years ago. Now it was a nightclub for her kind. A long, silver bar stretched along one wall, usually with three or four bartenders at once, several people lounging casually nearby with drinks in hand, those uninterested in dancing. The dance floor gleamed strangely, shimmering colours running across the black surface like it was a pool of oil; the people dancing pressed together, twisting and swaying in rhythm with the music. There were no DJs. A live band played on an elevated platform, and a small slip of a woman was singing in another language, voice haunting and nearly ethereal. Glass tables with dark velvet couches and chairs ringed the dance floor, more Others lounging across the cushions lazily. A set of stairs against the wall led up to the walkways that wove through the upper level of the club, the VIP lounge where the oldest members and their select guests lingered with the finest food and wine. There was no beer served. The Others had been around since mankind first learned to walk on two legs rather than four, and their tastes were far more refined.

The woman ignored all of these things. She had seen them before, and tonight was not a social call. She was not welcome in this place, except when there was business to be done. As she crossed the warehouse, she could feel eyes on her, the prickle along her skin as the invisible Beasts lingering in the æther shifted and stretched, butting their heads against the bars of their respective flesh cages. Her own moonlit companion stirred now, pacing and anxious. They had stepped out of bounds now. Every Other in here owed allegiance to someone that was not her, and it made her uneasy, though she kept it firmly buried down deep, not allowing anything but an air of cool, graceful confidence to show.

There was another part to the Burnout, a second building connected by a single passageway; it was to there she was bound, for it was where the Raja sat with his council. The woman walked past the dancers on the floor, striding straight towards the door that led into the bathhouse; the bouncer standing guard saw her coming and opened the door for her, the shadows about him flexing and shivering as his Beast pushed to be free. She soothed back her own dark companion, strode through the door and walked down the straight passage into the other half of the nightclub. It was a bathhouse, in essence, styled after the ones of ancient Rome. From the baths themselves, she could hear the screams and shouts and laughter of the Raja's people; from the sound, men and women both were taking in the pleasure of the always-warm water in the cold weather.

"Bunch of weirdoes, hoppin' in a bath together like ain't nothin'," muttered one waitress to her companion as they approached from the opposite direction, carrying a tray of empty glasses and plates in both hands.

"Perverted freaks," the companion replied with a nod.

"Be sure to smile when you say that," the woman remarked, an edge to her voice as she passed the two humans; they coloured and scurried away. She stepped into the bathhouse. Unlike the nightclub, there were no humans to be found in the baths, nor were there any sitting at the side of an Other like a bit of fleshy jewelry. The warm air in the bathhouse was heavy with steam, scented by soap and herbal bath salts; along the far walls were shelves of fluffy white towels and bathrobes, both of which were more or less ignored. The floors were tiled in smooth white and gold, but the baths themselves had shades of blue, green, white, and silver in mosaic wave patterns that seemed to ripple with the water, depicting sirens and naiads and merfolk, dolphins and fish and seaweed. There were more glass tables and velvet couches here, the bodies stretched across them either unashamedly naked or damn near close to it. Compared to those not partaking in the water's delights, she was positively overdressed. The Raja's people were splashing at each other, laughing and squealing in delight, dunking one another in childish abandon, men and women of all colours and sizes.

Her Beast hissed and spat, uncomfortable with their position, surrounded by potential enemies with no guards, about to demand the Raja's presence, when a quiet voice spoke from behind her.

"My Lady."

The woman very nearly snarled as she turned towards the sound of the voice, not too quickly lest she give away the fact that he'd startled her. The Raja was surprisingly young, far younger than she would have suspected, though there was no way to accurately tell his age. That was a great benefit of being Other – they were incredibly well-preserved and aged so gradually. He was stretched out along the length of one of the couches and was the only person other than herself that was fully clothed. " _Bhediya Raaja,"_ she said, addressing him by his full and proper title and dipping her chin just slightly.

He inclined his head in return. _"Sveltocha Tolva,"_ he replied, then gestured lightly to the empty stretch beside him. "Won't you sit with me, My Lady? I've been waiting to meet with you for some time."

The Tolva sat down carefully beside him, smoothing her skirt down and observing his reaction to her. His gaze flicked down her body and back up again, but not in an admiring way; no, that had been the look of a potential enemy sizing up an opponent before the round had even begun. Within the darkness of her subconscious mind, her Beast rose, padding up from the tangled forests of inner thinking until her striped muzzle was pressed into the bars which the woman kept between them. The She-Beast's lips curled back from her fangs, mouth opening as she scented the air, her muscular body rippling in readiness beneath her pelt.

"Here now, there's no need for that. We're all at peace here," murmured the Raja in a low, dark voice, and in her mind's eye, she saw his own Beast rear its head from the depths, a red tongue curling between gleaming ivory fangs bared in a killing grin. "This is a place of amnesty. None who step beyond the doorway may inflict harm upon another, no matter the breed or the grievance."

"Switzerland," the Tolva remarked with a scornful twist of the lips, though she had to abide by the laws of hospitality. Every Other territory had one of the _motive pașnice,_ and she was bound to respect them despite her disdain for them.

"Just so," the Raja answered. On the glass table beside his elbow was a bottle of Black Grouse and two empty glasses; he filled one glass then glanced to her, offering the bottle. She nodded. He filled the second and handed it to her. Others couldn't get drunk very easily; she could down the entire bottle and barely have a buzz, but it was still pleasant to drink. Subtly, she gave the glass a whiff as she lifted it to her lips, the She-Beast present, but caught scent of nothing suspicious. "I presented the former Volteron with a new arrangement. Have you by chance seen it?" he asked as he sipped his own whisky. With long, thick black lashes and hooded eyes, he gave the appearance of always being somewhat drowsy, as if nobody spoke to him for several minutes he would drift off to sleep. However, his eyes gleamed with burning intelligence and keen awareness.

Woman and Beast had no doubt – he was dangerous. "I have," she replied carefully, looking out at the baths. The Raja's people were ignoring the meeting of leaders, acting as if nothing had changed in their night even though the fate of their existence might very well hang in the balance of the outcome of their conversation. There were men and women alike, none of them ashamed of their nudity; shame was an invention of man. Some lounged at the edges of the bath, leaning arms up on the porcelain edges, talking amongst themselves, washing each other's backs and hair. Some swam laps from one end of the bath to the other, as it was nearly the size of an Olympic pool, others were giggling and laughing, splashing and dunking each other in childish abandon. There were a few couches and chairs here, spread around the edges of the pool. Some lay across the cushions, enjoying drinks and finger foods of their own. "I found it...agreeable. I may have a few provisions, however."

His face didn't change, not the slightest twitch, and she commended him on his poker face. It'd taken her years to learn the art of a completely blank façade. "Oh?" he asked.

"Perhaps, just one or two small things. The former Volteron and I do not exactly share the same policies," she replied.

"No, I did not imagine so." He swirled the whisky 'round in his glass a few times.

"I am curious, however. A location that you have claimed as part of your personal territory. It seems a rather...odd selection, considering that it is government property, nothing like any of your other businesses," the Tolva said. She had seen the parametres of the territory in the old Volteron's papers, a curious choice as it wasn't anywhere near his other locales, a rather small patch of land in central London, encompassing only one building instead of several, as was the norm in claiming new territory.

The Raja's gaze slid from the baths to her, dark eyes gleaming beneath long lashes. "Forgive my impertinence, Tolva, but my business is my business, not something to be discussed at large," he replied in a colder voice. "The matter has already been settled, and it is under my personal protection."

The Tolva blinked in surprise, unable to control the outward reaction of shock. The _motive pașnice_ of territories were always under the respective leader's protection, as were their personal domains and their place of council, but some little building on the fringes of the territory? It was bizarre, to say the very least. Still, the Beast had risen in his eyes, and she would not push the matter. The Raja did not approve of her, just as she did not approve of him; whatever relationship they had was purely professional, and cold at that. But there was no doubt that he would make a dangerous opponent if she stepped wrong here, and doing so would tip the delicate balance between the other four Other clans of Greater London. One day she would learn the truth of that mysterious little place, but it would not be today, and not in this conversation. She dipped her chin down slightly. "Of course, Raja, it was merely a personal curiosity."

His handsome mouth twisted up slightly in what might have passed for a smile in human eyes. The Tolva, however, saw the Beast lurking behind it, ivory teeth and red tongue exposed. "Well, My Lady, you know what is said of curiosity and cats," he said softly.

Her She-Beast strained so powerfully at the bars of her metaphysical cage that the Tolva had to consciously and with effort coax her back down again, the massive creature of the æther snarling and hissing in indignant rage. _Soon,_ thought the woman. _Soon._

 _Not soon enough,_ the Beast thought.

After she was certain that she was once more in control of the Beast, the Tolva murmured, "I see. Well, Raja, I shall take my leave of your most gracious hospitality for tonight. I shall have a copy of your proposal returned with my provisions attached. Hopefully you will find them agreeable and we may have terms."

The Raja nodded just slightly as she stood up, setting the glass on the table. "My sincerest thanks for gracing us with your presence tonight, Tolva. I shall await your reply."

As the woman left the Burnout Nightclub behind her, the cool night air a sharp bite compared to the thick humid drowsiness of the bathhouse, her mind was burning with questions. She would find out what the Raja was hiding in that little building of his, agreement or no.

* * *

Christine Johnson strode through the halls of the Anomaly Research Centre with James Lester at her side, her eyes roaming as she took in everything she could. It truly was an impressive facility, and it had the potential to be great, if he were to allow her to make the necessary changes. Starting with that civilian team of his. They would be the first thing to go, to be replaced as soon as all possible with a legitimate, qualified team of professionals that would actually _follow_ orders. She already had a list of potential replacements at the ready, though she would at least wait for the five-pence tour to end before she stared in on that.

"Very impressive, James. I must commend you," she said silkily. "I believe there is a great partnership to be had between you and I."

They stepped through a set of double doors into a large circular atrium with a ramp which led up to his offices overhead. A large bank of computer monitors lay in the centre of the atrium, several tables full of equipment arranged around it. "Yes, well, I'm sure there will be much to talk about," James replied at last. "This is our anomaly detector here. It monitors the particular radio frequency anomalies create and alerts us to their appearance and their location."

Christine's gaze slid over the detector, as he'd called it. It was far beyond what her own scientists had come up with, and endlessly more efficient. "Might I ask who is behind this machine? It must have been quite a marvel to build," she said, already calculating what it might take to buy them over to her side.

"Ah, yes, a member of Professor Cutter's team," James replied; the muscles in her temples bunched at the mention of Cutter's name. He was right at the top of her 'to-be-fired' list. "Where the devil is he? _Temple!"_

The side door opened, a stumbling figure tripping over its own feet. "Sorry, sorry, Lester."

The She-Beast rose swiftly and suddenly, slamming against the metaphysical bars in her mind with so much force that Christine couldn't fully suppress the twitch in her limbs, and her hands curled into fists to hide the claws that began extending from beneath her nails.

The young man wearing a terrible clash of colours and secondhand clothing came to an abrupt halt, his gaze snapping up to her so quickly that she was surprised he didn't hurt his neck. He sucked in a sharp breath, pupils dilating sharply, and she saw the flicker of gold that brightened his irises as his own Beast snarled behind the man. His face smoothed out into a blank mask, but his eyes, long-lashed and deceptively drowsy, were still burning.

In that moment, Tolva Christine Johnson knew she had made a very deadly enemy out of the Raja.


End file.
